The moment the system reward activated, a torrent of spiritual pressure surged from Lu Yu's body—wild, pure, and overwhelming.
An invisible column of golden light pierced upward into the sky, invisible to the ordinary eye but impossible to ignore for those with perception. The reiatsu crackled like static thunder, too brief to be traced but too powerful to be dismissed. In an instant, it vanished, swallowed by the atmosphere as if never there.
But within Lu Yu, that power was real.
He clenched his fists, fingers trembling not from fear, but from ecstasy. His soul felt soaked in energy, every fiber vibrating with strength he had never known. "So this… this is what spiritual power feels like," he whispered, drunk on the sensation. "This flow… it's addicting."
A grin spread across his face—crooked, bold, full of confidence that didn't exist just yesterday. "From now on, I'm no longer powerless. I've stepped onto the path of the Shinigami."
He took a deep breath and made a declaration only he could hear: "Two Cokes a day. Sweetened. I'll spoil myself."
His ambition surged with the same rhythm as his growing power. Ice? The strongest element? Hyōrinmaru, the revered ice-type Zanpakutō? Kyōka Suigetsu, with its perfect illusion? Even the bloodlines of Quincy, Shinigami, Hollow, and Human? Let them have their hype. With this system in his corner, none of it mattered.
He wasn't envious.
Not in the slightest.
While Lu Yu bathed in the euphoria of his awakening, unaware of the chaos he had triggered, the spiritual heart of Soul Society shuddered. For most, it passed like a gust of wind—strange and cold, then gone. But among the perceptive, alarm bells rang.
Across the divisions, elite Shinigami stirred. Some blinked in confusion, unsure if they had felt something at all. Others sat up straight, brows furrowed, searching the horizon with narrowed eyes. That brief pulse had the texture of nobility and the depth of something ancient—too refined for a Hollow, too controlled for a beast.
Only those of captain-class and above could truly feel it. Even then, it left more questions than answers.
"What... was that?" murmured one.
"That reiatsu... it's on par with a captain... but I don't recognize it," said another.
Within the higher echelons of Gotei 13, captains exchanged glances filled with unease. Shunsui Kyōraku adjusted his hat and sipped from his sake gourd, his usual languid demeanor replaced with quiet calculation. Jūshirō Ukitake leaned forward slightly, lips pursed, weighed down not by the strength of the reiatsu, but by what it could mean.
Both men still carried the memory of the Mask Rebellion—its betrayals, its fractures—and this new anomaly reopened old wounds.
Although not every captain made the same connection, the concern was nearly universal. A spiritual disturbance of this magnitude near Seireitei was no trivial matter. Fortunately, the reiatsu had been unmistakably Shinigami in nature—powerful, yes, but not Hollow. Still, captain-level pressure emerging and disappearing so suddenly, so near their seat of power, was a threat none of them could ignore.
It would have been less troubling had it occurred somewhere deep in the 70s or 80s of Rukongai, the lawless outer districts where chaos was expected and lives meant little. But this had erupted in District 1 of the West Sector—too close, too organized, too exposed.
The higher districts near Seireitei enjoyed better protection not out of kindness, but necessity; they were buffer zones for the nobles and the Shinigami families who served them. Even a single unknown element within these districts qualified as a breach in Soul Society's defenses.
The Eleventh Division's current captain, Zaraki Kenpachi, born from the very heart of District 80, understood this better than anyone. He had clawed his way to power from a place where only the strong survived, and now that same instinct made his blood stir. His eyes lit up, and without waiting for a formal order, he grabbed his Zanpakutō with one hand and shouted with glee, "Oi! Get ready to move! Doesn't matter who it is, I'm itching for a good fight!"
Elsewhere, Captain Byakuya Kuchiki stood calmly beneath the moonlight, hands tucked into his sleeves. His face, cold as alabaster, revealed nothing—but the flicker in his eyes betrayed the ghost of a memory he wished would stay buried. "A little disturbance," he murmured, barely audible. "Nothing worth reacting to."
In the Tenth Division barracks, Captain Shiba Isshin scratched his head, yawning. "That's some impressive reiatsu," he said with a grin. "But come on, not every new powerhouse is a threat. Let's not start swinging our Zanpakutōs at shadows."
While many captains bristled with tension, he remained seated, unconcerned.
And deep within the Fifth Division quarters, beneath the soft glow of lantern light, Aizen Sōsuke's brush paused midstroke. His gaze remained fixed on the rice paper in front of him, the ink bleeding slightly from the tremor in his hand.
He examined the page, then sighed. "Even a single flaw ruins the whole composition," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "Accidents are nothing more than signs of incompetence."
Without turning, he felt the presence before it moved. "Gin. It's not polite to appear without knocking."
The rice paper dissolved into reishi fragments with a flicker of his reiatsu.
From the darkness, Ichimaru Gin emerged with his trademark fox-like grin. "Oops. You caught me. That pulse earlier must've thrown off my manners."
He glanced sidelong at Aizen, eyes half-lidded and unreadable. "Old acquaintance back in town?"
But he wasn't really asking. He was testing.
The more time Gin spent near Aizen, the clearer it became—this man's depths were endless. To face him directly was suicide. Subterfuge, manipulation, the slow trickle of information—those were the only tools that gave Gin a sliver of leverage.
"I'm not concerned with who it was," Aizen replied without emotion. "What matters is that our plans remain intact."
In his mind, even a new captain-level presence was just a minor inconvenience. A pawn, at best. A resource, if shaped correctly. He had no fear of the unknown. In fact, he welcomed it.
Gin said nothing more, knowing when to pull back. "I'll look into it, then. Quietly."
Without waiting for permission, he disappeared into shunpō, silver hair glinting under moonlight as he turned his gaze toward West District 1.
Whoever you are… Gin smirked to himself. If you've caught Aizen's eye, your fate's already sealed.
Just try to last long enough to be useful.
Maybe… long enough to get me a little closer to Kyōka Suigetsu.